After taking my Viagra and jerking out a throwaway come, I strolled over to her brothel, rang the bell, got buzzed in, and walked upstairs down the AstroTurf to the end of the hallway, where the mama-san opened the cast-iron barred front door and said "Beautiful day!"
"Yes, it is. Is Icy working today?"
And so the mama-san hurried out back to the cubicles and brought a girl out for me.
Yes, it was Icy, tiny in her orange sweat pants and sports bra—and still dressed, since another john had only just made her his selection.
"He said he would wait for me."
"Well, he won't wait two hours."
"I can't remember your name!"
And only now have I worked out why she might have thought she should have: I'd had her before, twice at least: Once, when she cracked my neck like a chiropractor, the only whore ever to have done this for me; twice, when she said she would never do that again; and a third time, perhaps, when she had been left in charge of the house, and was nervous. That was two years ago, before the layoff; has she stayed tight?
We agree terms: A shower, one come, the massage, another come. But she can't take her pants off 'til after the shower, "Because"—she rolls up a pant leg and shows me her bandaged right knee. I hand her the money; she counts it.
At the foot of the bed, I've unwrapped my towel; on the chair, her cell phone silently flashes pure blue in the dim pink room.
"I can't tell my friends where I am."
Naked, Icy climbs up on the bed and shows me where "Mama" had put the big white square bandage on her knee.
"I dropped the chicken!"
She'd been bringing dinner back to the girls, and rushing, she'd tripped and fallen. And in fact, on my way in, I'd stepped round spme chicken nuggets spilled out on the sidewalk, and thought they were discards from the street person—the one with the Santa Claus hat who sleeps on the steam grate outside Icy's brothel.
"All I could give them was cheesecake!"
When she moved her head down to my crotch and started to pluck at the loose skin of my dick with her lips, I put my hands at the backs of my thighs and pulled back and wheeled up, presenting my anus.
Touching she felt she needed to tell me.
"You have smooth skin."
"One of my clients is immigration, he's good to me, but he has skin like a snake, I don't like to touch him!"
"Do you have a wife?"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"I thought the streetperson in front had spilled it."
"I always give them money. I have been poor. I give them money and they say `God bless you'!"
"I don't. It isn't good for the city."
"I have a license."
"No one has done that before."
"I have a license. My boyfriend, I gave him massage for hours. But no cooking, no cleaning!"
She's on top. Using my strength I pull her shoulders toward me, bring the breast at my right to my mouth: exactly one mouthful of flesh, resilient, not sagging or slack. My tongue flutters the nipple then my lips tug it, brush back and forth, wetly. I inhale her whole breast and suction it, growl in the back of my throat. The nipple, the underside, nipple again, all that Ming taught me, all that Kim moaned for, all Annie loved. The nipple's erect. What Annie would say: "The other one's jealous." I shift to it.
She's on top. "I'm all salty!" Using my strength I reach back and down cup her cheeks scrunch her forward still sucking her breast, slide my right index finger down her asscrack questing for liquid. And pause. Some whores don't permit that; Annie didn't. Comes the fractional push, back: A wellingness not KY cool but her very own fluids lukewarm sticky slithy. I stir her pool's surface around with the tip of my finger. Her fleshy lips first nubby and dry, then jammy, then fat coaxed-out slick.
"I'm too wet."
"You can't be too wet."
I dig in a little; her hole is so tiny I go back to stirring, sauce making, coating her lips and her clit as I swirl-suck her teats. I rotate my tongue and rotate my finger: She whimpers. She's grasping my dick the whole time with dry fingers and jerking, so it's not very pleasant, that part, but the rest keeps me so focussed I don't take the time to ask her to stop.
And in fact I believe her, since she was "on vacation" when I had called.
Asking me if I'm ready, she kneels over my crotch, reaches under herself, snubs my tip into her, and pushes herself all the way down me me all the way up her. I'd preferred doggy style but thought of her knee.
"I was so close."
I believe her since she was so wet.
Questions for study and discussion
1. Is "ferocious" a good word for Icy's work ethic?
2. Why did the service seem less memorable than the total experience?
3. Next time, should I ask for a handjob during the table shower, so my first come isn't so quick?
4. Next time, should I substitute conversation for the massage?
5. Should I trust her again with my neck?
All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."